


If I Should Fall From Grace

by LolaEbola



Category: Marvel, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Cages, Chains, Gags, Hoods, Humiliation, Imprisonment, M/M, Non Consensual, Punishment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 17:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LolaEbola/pseuds/LolaEbola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is brought home to Asgard to receive his punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Should Fall From Grace

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter contains elements of non-consensual bondage and humiliation. As the story progresses this will become darker and more sexual. Warnings and tags will be updated accordingly.

The disgraced God of Mischief kneels silently in his cage. His _punishment_ cage, the one into which he has been locked far too frequently since this unending nightmare began. At least, when the thick leather hood is secured over his head, he does not have to look into the eyes of those who use and defile him, and see reflected there his his fall from grace and his utter humiliation. Of all the punishments the Allfather had at his disposal, he would never have guessed that he would choose this.

~

On their return to Asgard, Thor and Loki had landed with an audible _thump_ , Loki rolling his eyes dismissively at his adopted brother as he fought to retain his balance, the rather pathetically insubstantial muzzle limiting his speech thankfully having no effect on his facial expressions. Thor had merely shrugged, having discharged his duty in delivering the wayward god home safely. Now he would be handed over to the Asgardian guards, before being brought before the Allfather for sentencing.

As if on cue, a cohort of guards had appeared, the leader of which had fixed Loki with a frosty stare. "Prince Loki, you are to be taken to the dungeons to be prepared for tomorrow's sentencing before the Allfather. Prince Thor, please hand over your prisoner."

Thor had passed the flimsy chain leash to the guard, his face downcast in sorrow. "Brother mine, you have disgraced Asgard, and you have disgraced our family. I can only pray that your punishment will make you think on your sins and that, when it is over, you will be the better man for it."

Loki had glared again at Thor, his green eyes flashing his anger and distain. "Yes, brother, I know that you are angry, and I know that you hate me and the Allfather now, but I truly believe that you still have goodness within you, and that your chastisement will release that goodness. I pray for it, brother, and for your return in due course to your family."

Without another word, Thor had turned and strode away, leaving Loki in the hands of the guards.

~

If he has seethed with indignation and humiliation at the pathetic muzzle and the puny chains, Loki is incandescent with rage now. Immediately following Thor's departure, the guards have set upon him, stripping him on the spot, tearing away his armour of metal and cloth and leather and leaving him as naked as the day he was born. His chains have been re-arranged so that his ankles are shackled closely together, hobbling him and making it difficult for him to walk without stumbling, and his wrists are chained together behind his back. A thick and heavy metal collar is locked tightly around his neck, a short chain connected to it serving as a leash, by which the guards can force him forwards to shuffle along behind them.

Loki's heart sinks as he realises that they are intending to lead him openly through the halls of Odin's palace, chained and naked and red-faced with shame, as the people whisper to one another, some openly snickering or cat-calling at his humiliation. Loki, the despised and disgraced black sheep, the pretend son of the Allfather. He knows only too well that there will be many who will gather to watch and jeer as he is punished. 

He stumbles along behind the guards, his back as straight as possible and his head held high, his gaze fixed ahead. He is Loki, Odinson of Asgard (ha!), Laufeyson of Jotunheim, the God of Lies and Mischief, the Silvertongue, and so many more titles and honourifics besides. He will not grace this rabble mocking him with any acknowledgement of their presence, nor their ridicule. 

Even so, he cannot help flinching with surprise when something wet lands on his cheek. He has been spat upon! Loki's growl of rage is audible even though the muzzle. Another glob lands on his shoulder, and another on his breast, trickling down over the muscled plane of his abdomen. If the guards have noticed this assault, they are completely ignoring it. 

The humiliating parade through the palace fills Loki with the heat of rage but, once they reach the huge, embossed, metal doors which signify the entrance to the dungeons, this begins to be cooled and replaced with a frisson of fear. The doors open slowly with an ominous creak and all at once the warmth and colour and magnificence of the palace is replaced by a chill which seems to emanate from the very bowels of Asgard itself. Once inside the dungeons, the doors swing shut with a resounding clang. Loki's punishment has only just begun.

~

He stumbles along through the strange, dank twilight of the dungeon passageways, surrounded by the cohort of guards, past ancient looking thick wooden doors bound with iron, from behind which he occasionally catches the sound of a muffled moan or sob, down, deeper and deeper into the depths of the dungeons. The air is chill and filled with the stench of mildew and decay. Even with his Jotun blood, Loki cannot prevent himself shivering, whether from the cold or his mounting fear, he is not sure he wants to know.

After walking through what seems like miles of dark, silent, hallways, they at last stop at a low door, formed of gnarled, solid wood like those he passed earlier, but carved into the doorframe are flowing screeds in runic and old Norse. "To contain your magic, Prince Loki," explains one of the guards, as if Loki doesn't know that, "you will be quite helpless once you are in your new quarters. Now, let's get you settled in, shall we?"


End file.
